Call of Duty: Modern Warfare - The Lost Chapters Remastered
by Newbie52
Summary: Taking place primarily between missions, this story chronicles the interactions between the soldiers of the Modern Warfare series, offering insight into the time spent between missions and ultimately setting up the events of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. As always comments and reviews are welcome. Story rated M for violence and language.
1. The New Guy

Three days before the events of Modern Warfare:

"What is it Gaz?" Price asked, looking up from his work on his M1911 .45 Captain's pistol as his friend and second in command stood in the doorway.

"One day I'm going to sneak up on you," Gaz muttered.

"Not today," Price grunted. "What's going on?"

"You've got a call from the Director of Special Forces, sir. MacMillan, I think his name was."

Intrigued, Price inserted the clip, holstered his pistol, and followed Gaz out of the room to a desk with a phone. The red dot that flashed on one of the buttons indicated that there was a call on hold.

"Gaz, how 'bout you go label the guns or something," Price said, staring at the phone. "You may be able to remember a few names later."

"Yes sir," Gaz said with a grin as he headed for the door. "I wonder if I should use assault rifles or sidearms this time."

Price waited until Gaz exited before picking up the phone. "This is Price."

"Hey, lad," came an older man's voice through the phone. "You been staying out of trouble lately? Or are you still waiting for another war?"

"C'mon, Mac," Price said, relaxing somewhat. "You know that war is inevitable… if it ever even ended."

"Hm, you'll never change," Mac said. "Unfortunately, I think the war is going to start soon. I just received confirmation that President Al-Fulani has been captured. Al-Asad announced that the President will be executed in three days. It looks like the team that we're creating will have to wait."

"Shit," said Price, fingering his pistol. We don't have much time."

"Time?" Mac asked dryly. "We don't have any time, son. You will be given special assignments within three days. That's actually the reason that I called."

Price heard his friend and mentor hesitate. The Captain sighed. "I know that tone. What are you about to do to me?"

"We're sending you a new addition to the team," the Mac answered. "He's good. Maybe even better than you were. Tests say he's a perfect soldier."

"Mac, don't do this to me," Price replied exasperatedly. "I _hate_ 'perfect soldiers' _._ They don't know how to fail and when they do, they don't know how to handle it. Or they argue with everything you say. Why can't I just—"

"John!" Mac said sharply. "It's done. And _out_ of our control. The most you can do is make the best of it. "

Price shook his head.

"Besides," Mac continued optimistically. "You were new once too. And you did just fine."

"I had a good teacher," Price said quietly. He sighed. "Fine. But I don't have to like him."

"I wouldn't expect you to right away," Mac said with a chuckle. "I knew a certain soldier that I didn't want around at first either."

Mac ended the call.

Price exited the room and turned to Gaz who was leaning against the wall outside the door.

"F.N.G." Price said.

Gaz rolled his eyes. "Fucking New Guy."

Three Days Later…

Price and three masked soldiers stood behind a series of observation monitors, waiting for the new guy to run 'The Course'. 'The Course' was a three-story mock-up of a cargo ship. Targets at been painted to resemble automatic rifle-wielding terrorists in ski masks.

Some of the soldiers next to Price began teasing the new guy when they saw his choice of weaponry.

Before the new guy, designation "Soap", grabbed the rope; he pulled out his USP .45 Pistol.

"He's got style," Gaz commented, listening to the chatter through the com.

Price simply grunted and addressed the soldier above him. "Grab the rope when you're ready."

Soap grabbed the rope and rappelled down to the second level of the training area.

Price began shouting orders. "Go, go, go!"

Three targets rose from the ground. One was stationed behind a desk, another rose next to the desk, and a third was located at the entrance to the mock-up ship's 'bridge'.

Hit the targets!"

Price's eyes flicked between the monitors as Soap shot all three targets in the head before moving down a level and shooting another target at the base of the stairs.

Price continued shouting orders as Soap traversed the training course.

Ignoring the comments of the soldiers next to him, Price folded his arms.

After reaching bottom of the stairs, Soap stopped outside of a room with two targets lying flat on the ground.

"Flash-bang through the door!" Price ordered.

Soap complied and shot the targets as they revealed themselves in the aftermath of the flash-bang's explosion. Soap quickly moved into the next room, knifing a target on his right before shooing the target that rose in front of him.

All the while, Price continued to give orders.

As the new guy reached the next hallway, Price ordered him to throw a flash-bang through the door and shoot the two remaining targets before moving on.

Soap did as commanded and, as per Price's orders, turned right and exited the training area, sprinting to a red circle across the room.

The training run was complete.

Price hit a button on the console to reset the course. He looked up from the monitors as Soap stood by the ladder leading to the start of the training course.

"Pretty good, Soap," Price said with a hint of admiration. "But I've seen better. Climb up the ladder if you want another go. Otherwise come over to the monitors for debrief."

"Price," Gaz said through the private com. "Orders from Command."

Price listened in on the patched com before looking up. "Gentleman, the cargo-ship mission is a go. Get yourselves sorted out. Wheels up at 0200. Dismissed."


	2. Addition to the Manifest

Following the events of "F.N.G.":

"So what was it?" Gaz asked.

As always, Price and Gaz were the first to make it to the helicopter. They had just finished going over the assault plan for the cargo-ship mission.

"What was what?" Price grunted, inspecting the helicopter's rotors.

"The score. Do I still hold the record?"

Price rolled his eyes. "You still have the record. The new guy clocked in at twenty seconds, not nineteen."

"How many rounds did he use?" Gaz asked, tipping his head in curiosity.

"Ten," Price answered, now checking his gear. "All head shots."

"Ten targets and ten head shots," Gaz repeated. "Price, you realize that if we shaved off about three seconds for accuracy like we do for the rest of the team, the F.N.G. just beat _all_ our records?"

" _Most_ of our records," Price corrected. "I still have my record of sixteen seconds if we're subtracting an additional three."

"You don't trust him the field yet, do you?" Gaz said, reading his superior officer's tone.

Price turned toward the group of men heading for the helicopter.

Soap silently brought up the rear.

"You know me, Gaz," Price said, turning back to his friend. "I don't trust anyone."

Gaz chuckled checked his own gear.

A few seconds later, Price turned to the men who had just reached the helicopter. "Let's get going."

Everyone boarded the helicopter.

The journey to their destination was conducted in silence.

Price glanced at the new recruit across from him.

Soap's eyes were alert, frequently looking outside the chopper.

"Five minutes to destination," the pilot announced.

"Very good," Price said, turning to his men. "Check weapons."

…

The sound of weapons being stocked and restocked could barely heard over the storm raging around the chopper.

Soap finished rechecking his weapons before everyone except Price and Gaz.

Soon enough, the ship came into view. After glancing at the gear that would bring them down to the deck, Soap's eyes settled upon a holstered pistol across from him, admiring the craftsmanship of the gun.

"You like that pistol?" Price grunted.

Soap looked up from the pistol and saw its owner glaring at him.

Price slowly lowered the cigar that, rumor has it, he smoked before and after every mission.

Unsure of what to say, Soap just nodded.

"Don't touch it," Price said quietly. He leaned in close, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. "Ever."

Price leaned back and glanced at the ever-closing ship, acting as though the exchange had never happened.

"He means it, mate," Gaz said, breaking the momentary silence. "The first time I held it, he nearly broke my nose. Oh, and don't ask for a cigar either. He doesn't share."

Ten minutes later, the infiltration began.

After a few minor skirmishes, Price led the squad to the lower levels of the ship and into the cargo area where they encountered heavy resistance. The squad was forced to split up to cover more ground.

Soap went along the right wall and found himself surrounded by large shipping containers. A security officer charged around the corner of the container to Soap's left with a Desert Eagle handgun raised.

Soap quickly swung his rifle, knocking the gun from the officer's hand. The man recovered quickly, tugging aside Soap's own rifle and kicking it out of his grasp. As the man tried to grab the knife from Soap's belt, Soap charged into him, propelling them out of cover and into a small shipping container with a stack of boxes piled on top.

A bullet pinged off the wall beside Soap. Realizing that he had put himself near a firefight, Soap immediately grabbed onto the man's shoulders and placed his legs against the small shipping container behind the officer before pushing out and propelling them back into the cover of the larger container.

…

Price saw the Soap throw himself and the Russian back into cover. He glanced at Gaz.

Gaz nodded and began to flank their attackers.

…

The officer fell on top of Soap and reached for his neck. Soap managed to grab the man's arms and roll them over before delivering a punch to the Russian's face. The man got his foot up and kicked Soap backwards to the ground before the S.A.S. soldier could land another blow.

Both men got to their feet. The officer glanced in the direction of Soap's fallen rifle. Soap immediately charged forward. He drew his knife and slashed his foe under the left ribcage and flanked the officer.

Soap followed through by stabbing the man in the back before immediately turning, kicking in the back of the officer's knee, and stabbing him in the chest twice from behind.

Both men slumped to the ground. Seeing boots ahead of him, Soap instinctively reached for his pistol.

"Okay," Gaz said, rounding the corner as he quickly raised his hands. Moving around the pair, he reached down, grabbed Soap's fallen rifle, and tossed it to its owner. Soap caught the weapon with his left hand as Gaz nodded. "Welcome to the team."

Soap rose and rejoined the squad with Gaz. He stayed close until they reached the package.

Soap barely had time to grab the manifest before an explosion rocked the freighter.

The ship began to sink.

…

Price turned right, as the helicopter swooped into view. The ship continued to tilt to the side as water washed onto the deck. Price ran across the slanted, wet deck and easily made the jump to the helicopter's ramp along with those in front of him.

As the helicopter began to move away, Price turned to see Soap running toward them with the manifest tucked in his vest.

"Jump for it!" shouted one of the men in the helicopter as Price turned to face the pilot.

Price heard Soap hit the ramp and turned as the young soldier started sliding backward toward the watery abyss below.

Price quickly threw aside his rifle and grabbed Soap's flailing arms. "Gotcha."

…

Once inside the helicopter, Soap crawled forward to relative safety and turned to watch the ship sink into the ocean. After a moment, he slowly got up, handing the manifest to Gaz before taking his seat across from Price.

Soap turned again to look at the slowly closing ramp.

…

Price's eyes were fixed on the man he'd just saved. _So he does know how to make a mistake._ Price leaned back and pulled out a cigar _. And he kept the manifest. There may be hope for the boy yet._

…

Soap turned back to see the Captain Price lighting a cigar and checking his pistol.


	3. Meeting Nikolai

Following the events of "Blackout":

Soap took one last glance at the battlefield they were leaving behind.

"The Americans are making mistake," Nikolai insisted. "They will never take Al-Asad alive."

"You think Al-Asad will go down swinging?" Gaz asked after few seconds of silence.

"I've been undercover with the Ultranationalists for months," Nikolai said. "Al-Asad will is too paranoid to be anywhere obvious."

The squad nodded but remained silent.

After a minute of silence, Nikolai spoke again. "So can I know the name of rescuers? I imagine it's a long ride to destination and I don't like awkward silence."

"We're S.A.S. Special Air Service," Price said, barely looking at Nikolai. "I'm John Price. Across from you is my second in command Gaz. Next to him is Soap."

"Why you and not some other spec ops team?" Nikolai asked.

"You've gave us some information the past couple weeks that led to a raid in which we learned of a nuclear supply drop," Price explained.

"I guess this is how we repay you for your fine work," Gaz added.

"Thanks," Nikolai said simply. He glanced at Soap who was watching the exchange with a guarded expression. Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Do you speak?"

"Not really," Gaz answered for Soap.

Nikolai nodded. "At least you won't annoy by talking too much, unlike the Ultranationalists," the Russian said, rubbing his own shoulder. "Granted they use fists and boots a lot."

Soap made no reply.

Nikolai leaned forward, extending his hand to Soap. "Thank you, my friend."

Soap reluctantly shook Nikolai's hand.

Gaz looked over his shoulder at the pilot. "Did you bring it?"

"Yes, sir."

Gaz disappeared into the cockpit and returned with a four pack of cans. He passed it over to Price who, in turn, handed the four-pack to Nikolai.

Nikolai raised an eyebrow and slowly opened one of the cans before returning the box to Price. Price threw a can to Gaz but set one beside Soap who was holding his hands up expecting a can to be thrown to him.

"I see he treats everyone he first meets with… hesitant liking," Nikolai observed, looking between Price and Soap.

Soap reluctantly grabbed the can and took a drink in silence.

…

Price let his mind leave continuing conversation, focusing instead on his own thoughts. _The boy can fight and handle himself in the field. But he's got a long way to go before he earns my respect._


	4. Temporary Rest

Following the events of "Aftermath":

Price opened his eyes. It was the first time that he had gotten rest since before his squad had rescued Nikolai.

"Captain Price, we've arrived," the helicopter pilot announced.

The team had survived a short, but hard trek behind enemy lines. After being evacuated and escorted to their destination, Price felt that they had reached relative safety. Everybody stretched, grabbed whatever gear they had left, and exited the chopper.

Gaz was never one to be silent. "Well, that went better than our last ride."

Nikolai chuckled from behind as Price and Soap entered the cool night in silence.

"Where are we?" asked Price as the rest of his team exited the chopper as well.

"It's a small village ten klicks away any known enemy encampments," the co-pilot answered as he exited the chopper. "We figured it's safer to have the mountain at our backs. The civvies were evacuated an hour ago, so you're free to bunk anywhere you want."

Soap shook his head as the co-pilot moved back to the chopper.

Price stated the obvious. "It's only _safe_ as long as nobody is attacking us. Then we're trapped and most likely dead.

"Always the optimist," Gaz muttered.

Price grunted. "Alright, Gaz and Soap, take roster of the gear then meet at the house furthest away from the mountain. I don't feel as…" Price glanced at the co-pilot. " _Safe_ with my back to the wall. The rest of you, take the next three houses. Nikolai and I will set up shop."

"I'm afraid that's not an option, sir," the pilot interrupted, exiting the chopper and moving to Nikolai. "Your HVI is to be debriefed at another location by Russian Loyalist Kamarov and given new orders. Nikolai, we leave as soon as the chopper is refueled."

As the pilot moved to restart the chopper, Nikolai thanked the squad once again and shook hands with each member of the team.

Soap, having been through hell with Nikolai, openly shook his hand but remained silent.

Before boarding the chopper, Nikolai turned to the squad. "Remember, I owe you one."

"You owe us two," Gaz countered.

"Two it is," Nikolai replied with a smile. "I hope we meet again, my friends."

…

A half hour later, Gaz and Soap had scavenged up a few cans of soup, some bags of chips and, to Gaz's delight, five cans of soda and a bottle of vodka.

"Once Command has a mission we'll be hip deep again," Price promised as the squad lounged on a couple of chairs and a couch. "Get some rest."

"Right," said Gaz lazily, sitting down on a couch. "I think I'll just see what's on T.V."

Soap grabbed the remote and dusted it off. Gaz reached for a soda as Price went into the kitchen to see if he could scrounge up a few glasses.

There was a loud clatter as the remote dropped to the ground. Gaz looked up to see Soap staring at the T.V. He was blocking Gaz's view.

Gaz sat up. "Soap, what—" Soap moved away from the T.V. and allowed Gaz to see the image. "Price! Get in here, now!"

Glass hit the floor in the kitchen, shattering loudly as Price came rushing into the room.

"Holy shit," Price whispered.

"Christ," Gaz gasped.

…

Soap just stood silently as he watched continuous recordings of the city that once held the Presidential Palace.

The city was now engulfed in flame and ash. There were thousands of bodies, broken vehicles, and destroyed buildings. At the epicenter of the destruction was a giant mushroom cloud.

Price was the first to recover. He rushed into the other room to the phone that had been provided by the men who'd set up the temporary base in the village.

Soap tore his gaze from the T.V. as Price started shouting. "You get MacMillan on the phone right now! And screw your clearance!"

…

Price unloaded and reloaded his pistol.

Within minutes, Mac picked up the phone.

"John," Mac said quickly. "You saw the—"

"Bloody hell, Mac! What happened?"

"I don't know, son. The Americans sent teams into the Presidential Palace and then the nuke went off," Mac said calmly. He took a deep breath. "There were thousands of people in the blast radius, John. Shepherd's furious. He's calling for all available hands to fend back the Ultranationalists and end the war quickly now that Al-Asad is presumed dead. We've got teams—"

"Wait, _presumed_ dead?" Price interrupted. "You mean you don't know? That's a pretty important detail, Mac!"

"John!" Mac exclaimed, raising his voice slightly. "I know your upset and I understand that you may be—"

"Where are you sending me?" Price snapped, unwilling to continue the current line of conversation.

"We are working as hard as we can, lad," Mac promised. "But if you have any leads on Al-Asad's location, I suggest you follow them."

Price took a deep breath. "I may know someone who can find him. I'll call you back if I get anything."

Price hung up the phone and ran outside to the base's Communications Officer. "I need to contact Nikolai right now. Call me when you have him."

Price trudged back into the house as the young officer went to follow his orders. Gaz and Soap were still watching the T.V. in horror. Price grabbed the remote off the floor and hit the power button.

The images disappeared.

Soap looked away and quickly moved into an adjacent bedroom where they had stashed their gear.

Price put his hand on Gaz's shoulder to get his attention. The older man applied a small amount of pressure, speaking calmly. "We need a drink."

Gaz slowly nodded.

Price released Gaz's shoulder.

Gaz handed two cans of soda to Price and opened up another for himself. The younger soldier still had a haunted look in his eyes.

Price went into the bedroom and saw Soap checking the gear and weapons. _The kid has focus. But I can't have him running himself into the ground._

"Soap," Price said. "Join us for a moment."

Soap stopped and turned.

Price tossed Soap a can and left the room, hesitating just a moment in the doorway before moving on.

They moved to rejoin Gaz, whom Price was glad to see had shaken off the shock of what he'd seen on the T.V. Price grabbed the vodka Gaz and Soap had found and poured a little into each of the three cans. Price then raised his can and his squad followed suit.

"To our comrades who live and die on the battlefield," Price said solemnly. "Sent in for those who can't protect themselves. To their sacrifice."

Soap and Gaz echoed the final statement. "To their sacrifice."

They drank in silence until Nikolai contacted them.


	5. Extraction Pending

Following the events of "Safehouse":

"Mac, we got him. Al-Asad is dead," Price said into the now deceased man's cell phone. He lowered his voice. "But there's more. Zakhaev supplied the bomb."

"Well that's better news than no news," Mac said optimistically. "Your informant is good at his job. I don't suppose you know how to flush Zakhaev out."

"I have a few ideas," Price replied. "But first you gotta get my squad the hell out of here. I don't want a normal extraction team, though. I want Griggs and Vasquez."

"John," Mac said gravely. "I just received news that Vasquez died when the nuke went off."

Price lowered his gaze and shook his head. "What about Griggs?"

"He's still alive," Mac answered. "But it'll probably take me ten hours to get him out to you. I'll try and make it eight.

"Good," Price grunted.

"Why do you want Griggs?" Mac asked.

"Because I need someone as pissed off as I am."

"John," Mac said quietly. "This isn't your—"

Price ended the call.


	6. Reunion

Following the events of "Heat":

"Griggs!" Price exclaimed, clasping his old friend's hand as the evac helicopter moved out RPG and Javelin range. "I think you took long enough."

"Sorry, sir," Griggs said with a sly smile. "Flying though this area isn't very safe this time of year."

"We know that better than most," Price replied.

Gaz moved forward and shook Griggs' hand. "It's good to see you Griggs. I was sorry about to hear about Vasquez. He was a total hard ass, but a good man."

Griggs slowly nodded. It was clear that his commanding officer's death had taken its toll.

There was a moment of silence.

Gaz continued. "Mind introducing yourself to Soap? He's the new guy."

Griggs turned to Soap who was sitting near the rear of the chopper. They exchanged brief nods.

Griggs glanced at Price. "I thought you didn't like new guys."

"He's been on the team less than a week. But he's definitely proved his worth," Gaz said, coming to Price's rescue. Gaz hesitated. "I didn't know you and Captain Price were still in touch."

"Well, there was a venture a while back," Griggs started to explain. "Price, Vasquez and a few others were looking to build a—"

"It's not important right now," Price interrupted. "Griggs, I need your help tracking someone down. I need the best."

Griggs turned serious. "I'm at your disposal, Captain."

Price nodded. "Very good. Everyone get some rest. Tomorrow, we're going after Zakhaev.


	7. Full Circle

Following the events of "Sins of the Father":

Soap reloaded his pistol.

"Target is on the roof," the helicopter pilot said. "He's all yours."

 _Our so-called leaders prostituted us to the west…_

"I can put one in his leg sir!" Griggs said, moving toward the Russian.

 _…Destroyed our culture…_

"No, we can't risk it!" Price said quickly. "Hold your fire!"

 _…Our economies…_

"Soap," Price continued. "Take his weapon and restrain him!"

 _…Our honor…_

"You've got nowhere to run!" Gaz said to Zakhaev's son as the Russian took a step toward the edge of the roof. "Drop it now!"

 _…Our blood has been spilled on our soil…_

Soap moved toward Zakhaev's son.

"No!" Gaz shouted.

BANG.

 _…My blood…_

The son of the Zakhaev was dead before he hit the ground. A bullet fired from his own weapon tore through his skull.

 _…On their hands…_

Soap froze.

 _…They are the invaders…_

Soap shook his head. _I should have been faster. I should have grabbed for the gun._ Soap looked down, contemplating the repercussions of his failure to capture Zakhaev's son.

"Baseplate, this is Bravo-Six," Price said, the disappointment in his voice evident. "Zakhaev's son is dead. We're comin' home."

 _…All U.S. and British forces will leave Russia immediately…_

"I know the man," Price assured his squad. "He won't let this go unanswered."

 _…Or suffer the consequences…_

Soap continued to stare at the ground. _Now everyone will pay the price._

Soap felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Price beside him.

"It's time to go," Price said quietly.

The trek back to the gas station and diner only took fifteen minutes. To all walking, it felt like hours. They all knew Price was right.

There would be retaliation. It was only a matter of time.

Nobody spoke until they reached their evac point. Everybody went into the diner where, not an hour earlier, they had staged an ambush for Zakhaev's son.

An unhappy Russian Loyalist bumped into Soap roughly. "Nice work, _Comrade_."

The Russian didn't even see the punch coming.

Soap landed a right hook that sent the man tumbling backwards into his fellow soldiers. When Soap went to follow up his attack, Griggs grabbed him from behind and attempted to pull him back. The Russians moved after Soap as Gaz got in the middle to protect his squadmate.

What resulted was a shoving and shouting match between both parties.

"Enough!"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

…

Everyone in the diner stopped and turned to see Price standing in the doorway, his pistol pointed straight in the air, still smoking. "What's going on here?"

"You need to control your men, Captain Price," Kamarov said angrily. "He attacked my comrade for no reason."

"Oh, that is bullshit!" Gaz shouted. "I heard exactly what your _comrade_ said!"

"It's true, sir," Griggs interjected.

Price holstered his weapon and glanced at Soap before turning to Kamarov. "Get your men out of here."

"Are you not responsible for the handling of your own men?" Kamarov asked in frustration.

"He is my man Kamarov. And I will handle it. _Get_ your men _out_."

Kamarov and his men moved out of the building and across the street to the gas station. Price looked at the remaining three men in the room. "Gaz, Griggs. You too."

"But sir—"

"Now, Gaz."

"Yes sir."

Gaz walked past Price as did Griggs, but not before patting Soap on the shoulder.

Griggs exchanged nods with Price.

Once they had left, Price turned and glared at Soap. Soap went to walk past Price to leave as well. Price blocked his path. Soap once again came around with his right fist.

Price knew it was coming and backed up, catching the fist as it flew by before pinning it behind its owner.

"Let go of me," Soap said quietly.

"You're not getting out of this that easily," Price growled, ignoring the order. "So sit down."

Price spun and threw Soap into a chair that was leaning against the bar. When Soap tried to stand, Price put his boot on the young soldier's chest and pinned him to his seat. After ten seconds Price spoke again. "I'm going to remove my boot now. And you aren't going to move."

…

Soap did as instructed. He was no longer angry. In fact, he felt no emotion at all. His commanding officer looked as if he was going to shout. Instead, Price just sighed, pulled a stool over, and sat facing Soap.

"You need to lock your anger and fear in," Price said calmly. Soap looked up to see an understanding look on his Captain's face. Price continued. "It doesn't matter what happened. If you allow yourself to lose control, everything you fear _can_ happen _will_ happen. You will put you, your team, and our world at risk. And I can't allow you to do that."

Soap looked at the floor again, not believing Price.

Price did the same and there was silence for another minute.

"If anything, it's my fault," Price said with regret in his voice. "I was sent in to kill Zakhaev years ago and I failed. Had I been able to make the shot, the nuke wouldn't have gone off and all those men would still be alive. We wouldn't be here. None of this would have happened."

Soap slowly looked at Price.

After a few seconds, Price pulled out his pistol and looked at Soap. "I never told you what happened after Pripyat."

 _Price braced himself as the chopper sharply banked to the left._

 _"Brace yourself! RPG on the roof!"_

 _The helicopter swerved to the side again, almost dumping Price and MacMillan out of the chopper. Price lost his balance and grabbed onto the seat behind him, losing the pistol he had been using seconds earlier to hold back the Russians as he and MacMillan made their escape on the helicopter._

 _"Were out of danger," the pilot finally said. The back ramp of the chopper closed as Pripyat receded into the distance, leaving the soon to be dead Imran Zakhaev far behind. "Good work, everyone."_

 _An hour later, a call came through for MacMillan._

 _"Satellite images have shown Zakhaev and his forces arriving at a known safe house," MacMillan relayed to Price. There was no anger or frustration in his voice. "They got him patched up. Shortly after, he boarded a helicopter. Current location and destination is unknown."_

 _Price looked down and started going over many scenarios in his head. All of them led to a negative future._

 _"Price," MacMillan said quietly and firmly. Price finally looked up. MacMillan leaned back in his seat, favoring his good leg. "You did well, lad."_

 _"I failed the mission," Price muttered, almost under his breath. "Anything that happens because I missed the shot will be on me."_

 _"One day you will learn that not every mission goes according to plan," MacMillan said with a chuckle. "You can't control nature, John. Your shot was spot on. The wind changes. You only do what you can do. Nothing more. nothing less."_

 _"That's not the way I see it," Price said bitterly._

 _"Let me tell you something," MacMillan said, leaning forward again. "The strongest are those who can stand up after the world pushes them down."_

 _After a few seconds, Price nodded, though he didn't fully understand or believe MacMillan's words._

 _MacMillan changed the subject. "This was my last mission, lad. I'm to be promoted to Director of Special Forces," he explained. Price looked at him, wondering what he was getting to. MacMillan grabbed the M1911 .45 pistol from his holster and offered it to Price. "Here. I think you'll be needing a replacement._

 _"That's your Captain's pistol," Price said, barely looking at the weapon._

 _"You are a Captain, son," MacMillan informed him. He continued to offer the pistol. "Take the pistol. One day, like me, you will find someone who is worthy of it. One who you think has the chance to change the world for the better, even if they don't think that themselves. Take it."_

 _Price hesitated for a moment and slowly grabbed the gun, holding it delicately. "I now understand what it was like to fail and what it will take to succeed," he thought. "The world is my responsibility now."_

 _Price placed the weapon snugly in his holster before looking at MacMillan. "Thank you, sir."_

 _MacMillan nodded and leaned back once again, closing his eyes. "You can call me Mac."_

"I may not be worthy of this pistol," Price confessed to Soap. "But I think MacMillan was right about one thing. The strongest _are_ those who can stand up after the world pushes them down. I think that every soldier needs this trial, this… failure to be worthy of the weapon that I am holding."

Soap remained silent but didn't look away.

"When that day comes," Price continued. "I will be proud to pass on this pistol."

"Gaz or Griggs?" Soap asked as Price rose to leave.

Price paused for a moment and sighed. "I don't see myself in Gaz or Griggs."

Price briefly put his hand on Soap's shoulder before out of the diner.

Once outside, Price holstered his pistol, allowing his hand to linger by his hip. He nodded at Gaz and Griggs who were talking quietly off to the side.

"The war will be over soon, son," Price said as Soap joined him a few seconds later. "One way or another."


	8. This Is It

Following Zakhaev's Nuclear Ultimatum:

"This is it," said Price. "We go in and kill the bastard. And I need your help to do it."

Price, Soap, Gaz, Griggs, a few S.A.S. soldiers, and two American snipers were gathered around a small table in an abandoned house near the border of Russia. Each had heard the public threat of nuclear retaliation from Imran Zakhaev himself and had tracked the Russian terrorist to a nearby nuclear facility.

"Kamarov doesn't think we have a chance and neither do our superiors," Price continued. He stood and slammed his fist on the table. "But I say we can. We may not make it out. But we _will_ make it in. No matter how this turns out, no matter who chooses to go or stay, Zakhaev will not live past this day. Who's joining me?"

Soap stood.

Gaz and Griggs both followed.

The American team glanced at each other and shrugged. "Why not?" one of them said standing up. "Everybody dies eventually."

The other sniper stood as well. "If you don't mind, we have a few more buddies who may want to join us."

Price glanced at Soap who nodded.

Price looked around the table. "Let's get this done."


	9. The Passing of the Pistol

"Game Over":

The final bullet in Price's rifle blew through a Russian's head.

"The tanker's about to blow!" Griggs warned. "Move!"

Price turned as the inevitable happened.

Fire came into contact with gas and fumes. The resulting explosion sent debris from both the vehicles around them and the bridge itself into the air.

After a minute, Price opened his eyes.

All sounds were muffled and his vision was blurry.It took Price a few seconds to overcome the sudden disorientation and realize where he was. He lay on the bridge behind a destroyed car. There was a helicopter hovering over the bridge nearby.

Price looked around but couldn't see Gaz. He slowly looked to his right and saw Griggs hauling an almost unconscious Soap toward cover, exchanging fire with the Ultranationalists.

Price felt a sharp pain just below the rim of his hat. He put a hand to the spot and came away with crimson blood. Then he looked down and saw a piece of shrapnel sticking out of his chest. It wasn't deep, but there was a lot of blood.

Price closed his eyes. _Passing out… blood loss… soon…_ He forced his eyes open. And looked up to see a bullet rip through Griggs' skull. Price looked away in grief for a moment and tried to concentrate on not losing consciousness. 

Price looked around for his rifle. _Focus… just a little… longer…_ Price reached for the pistol on his hip.

Price looked through the window of the wrecked car in front of him. Zakhaev was slowly moving in his direction. Price watched as Zakhaev looked down at something and pulled the trigger on his handgun. Price looked at Soap who lay directly in Zakhaev's path.

Price finally managed to retrieve his pistol from its holster and attempted to aim it through the window in front of him.

There was no shot.

Price knew he didn't have much time. He looked at Soap.

 _"The strongest are those who can stand back up after the world pushes them down."_

Price saw Soap still lying on the ground, unable to move. But his eyes were open. Price leaned up slightly. _He's still fighting… Soap's still fighting…_

Zakhaev's helicopter suddenly exploded overhead, momentarily distracting the Russian and his two remaining men.

Price grasped his pistol and looked at Soap again. _Now's his chance… He's the only chance…_ Price placed the weapon on the ground.

 _"When that day comes, I will be proud to pass on this pistol."_

Price used up the last of his strength to slide the pistol over to Soap.

Soap caught it, swung around, and fired three times in front of him.

Though Price didn't see it, he knew that they'd won.

Zakhaev was dead.

 _Good luck… son…_

…

When Soap finally turned to look at Price, the older man had already collapsed to the ground, unconscious or dead.


	10. Rude Awakening

_"…are you still waiting for another war?"_

Price's eyes snapped open, the words of his sub-conscious forgotten. There was a large man leaning over him. Sound returned as well, though it was still hard to decipher.

The man above Price looked to the side and started speaking… _Russian!_

Price sat straight up, grabbed the man's throat with both hands, and started squeezing. Price gritted his teeth as his chest started to burn painfully. The pain only made him squeeze harder.

…

Kamarov kept patting Price's outstretched arms, unable to say a word. The medic in the helicopter tried in vain make Price let go. He shouted at the helicopter's pilot.

…

Still in his startled state, Price only saw this as calling for reinforcements and tightened his grip on the Russian's neck.

…

The pilot shouted a reply and gave the medic control of the helicopter with short instructions.

…

Price loosened his grip slightly. _That voice…_

Another man leaned over Price and placed a hand on the S.A.S. soldier's right forearm, speaking English.

"Price, you are not thinking straight," the man said frantically. He pointed to himself. "Friend. Nikolai."

Vaguely recognizing the Russian talking to him, Price loosened his grip enough that the Russian he was choking could draw in short, ragged breaths. Nikolai slowly turned Price's head so that he could see the man on the floor close to the cockpit.

Price saw the man's face and everything came back to him.

 _The car chase._

 _The explosion on the bridge._

 _Watching as Soap gunned down Zakhaev._

 _Price's own death._

Price immediately released Kamarov who collapsed into one of the seats, gasping and coughing.

Suddenly exhausted, Price laid back down and looked at Soap. The younger soldier was clearly unconscious and injured. But his chest was rising and falling rhythmically. He had a new scar above and below his left eye.

Soap still held the pistol in his right hand.

After a couple minutes of resting, Price leaned up and looked at his own chest. He was still wearing his assault gear. When he lifted his shirt, Price saw stitches in his chest.

Price knew he was in a helicopter but wasn't sure how he got there. He looked at Kamarov and tried to figure out some sort of an apology.

Kamarov raised a hand. "It's okay," the Russian said with a small cough. "I had that coming for deserting you after Zakhaev's son died."

"What about Gaz?" Price asked.

There was a long silence.

Kamarov finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Price. Zakhaev killed him."

"It's not your fault," Price said, looking away. _Yet another good man is dead because of me_.

Price slowly rose to his feet, heading to the cockpit. He looked over Nikolai's shoulder and saw that they were in a large canyon. Mountains locked them in on either side. There was a small river below.

"Where are we?" Price asked.

"Seven miles from the border," Nikolai replied calmly. "We'll be safe soon."

Price turned and looked down at Soap before looking at the medic. "You speak English?"

The medic nodded.

Price sat next to his wounded companion. "Give me a sitrep."

"Your friend in the cockpit convinced Sergeant Kamarov to come along for an evac mission," the Russian explained in English. "Nikolai made it clear that we were going to be missing a helicopter either way. When we got to the bridge, you were unconscious. I managed to get your heart going. But I had to apply stiches to your head and chest. Luckily, your vest stopped most of the shrapnel."

"Will he make it?" Price asked, looking at Soap, somewhat afraid of the answer.

The Russian medic slowly nodded. "Your friend was barely conscious when we arrived. He requires more medical attention. But we need to get to our safehouse. It has the equipment he needs. After that, he'll be fine. However, the scar on his left eye is permanent."

Price nodded and looked around the helicopter. It was empty except for the five of them. "Where are the rest of your men, Kamarov?"

"We needed room to work," Kamarov answered. "The rest are in the second chopper."

BANG.

A large shock-wave rocked the helicopter.


	11. One Way Out

Price gabbed onto the rack above him for support.

"Chopper Two is down!" Nikolai shouted in Russian.

The medic started to translate before Price cut him off. "Yeah, Yeah, I get the bloody picture! Nikolai, do we have any reinforcements?"

"Reinforcements at the border!" Nikolai replied in English.

Two hostile choppers swooped in behind Nikolais. The aircrafts straightened out and maintained the same speed, staying an average of fifty feet behind their prey.

A voice rang out from one of the pursuing choppers. The voice was speaking English. It was difficult to hear over the sounds of the helicopters but was audible enough to get the message. "…took off with two S.A.S. officers… Give up insurgents… Let you live…We will open fire… Five minutes to comply."

"Can you out-fly them?" Price asked Nikolai.

"No room in canyon," Nikolai replied in frustration.

They exchanged a resigned, hopeless glance. Price looked at Soap and the pistol still clutched in his right hand. Then he looked at Kamarov.

"Give a weapon and a grenade," Price commanded.

Kamarov complied and handed Price an AK-47 and one grenade. "The gun only has one clip," Kamarov warned. "You won't survive long."

"I'm not planning on surviving," Price said, gazing at Soap.

Nikolai looked back at Price, his eyes wide. "My friend, you can't."

"One of us needs to survive," Price said, nodding in Soap's direction. "The second I hit the ground, you get the hell out of here. Make sure Soap lives."

Nikolai looked away and started to fiddle with his belt. He produced an M1911 .45 pistol and a knife, offering them to Price. "Give them hell, my friend."

Price took the knife and handgun, placing them in his belt and holster before looking at Nikolai. "Thank you."

Price looked past Nikolai at the mountains on either side. "Take us a little higher."

The helicopter rose above the cliff on the right side. The two pursuing helicopters followed. However, they lost about ten feet of ground.

Up ahead, Price spotted his drop point. "Look there," he said, pointing ahead of them. "You see where the cliff ends? There's about a three-and-a-half-foot drop. I could use that as cover to hold them off. Lower the ramp."

Nikolai hesitated before complying.

Price looked down at Soap one last time. "You're ready," he said quietly before moving to the open ramp.

Kamarov joined Price. "This is an honorable thing you are doing, Price," the Russian said in admiration.

"Throw me out," Price said quietly, ignoring the farewell. "We're close enough to the ground that I won't die. But it has to look real."

Kamarov just stared at him.

Nikolai lowered the chopper and slowed its speed.

"Come on, Kamarov," Price urged, turning his back to the ramp. "You owe me a kick."

Kamarov looked at Soap. "He's gonna kill me."

Kamarov quickly turned grabbed Price's vest before throwing him out of the chopper.


	12. The Last Stand

"Cease pursuit and land forty-five yards from the insurgent," The Commander of the Ultranationalist troops ordered.

The two helicopters ceased their pursuit and landed a safe distance from their prey.

The Commander wasn't taking any chances with his own life. His only objective was to capture the insurgent and make him pay for Zakhaev's death.

"Chopper Two, land and unload your troops," The Commander continued. "Await my orders."

The Commander nodded to his second in command. They moved toward the ramp of the chopper. His second in command was dressed in standard Russian military armor. On his belt was a knife and a Desert Eagle handgun. In his hands was an AK-47 with a Red Dot Sight attached. His face was covered by a ski mask.

Everyone aside from the pilot of the second chopper exited the helicopters. The Russian team numbered twenty-seven including the Commander and the Masked Man.

…

Price landed hard. Although he wasn't hurt, he had the wind knocked out of him. He felt pain in his chest as his stitches had started to tear from the impact. Price gathered himself and attempted to stand and thought better of it, falling back to the ground. _Better they think I'm hurt._

…

The Commander and his men could see the S.A.S. soldier laying on the ground about one-hundred and thirty-four feet from them.

The Commander motioned to five of his men. "Unless he puts up a fight, I want him alive. This man killed Zakhaev. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction of a quick death."

"Yes, sir."

The five men started moving toward the insurgent.

After a few seconds, the Commander pointed to another three men. "Back them up."

…

Price took the few seconds he had to evaluate the situation. _AK-47: Thirty rounds._ _They'll try to take me alive first._

Price stayed on the ground, cradling his weapon.

When he could hear the individual footsteps coming toward, him he estimated that there were at least five men. After three seconds, he quickly rolled over, simultaneously shooting his weapon.

From left to right, the five unsuspecting soldiers fell to the ground, each with two bullets in their chests. Price immediately leapt to his feet and ran for the three-and-a-half-foot drop that would provide stone cover.

…

The Commander calmly watched as the first group of soldiers he had sent to apprehend the S.A.S. insurgent fell to the ground. He turned to the rest of his troops.

"This man is armed and has now lost the element of surprise," he said calmly. He pointed to a group of men to his right. "You six, charge his position and kill him."

The Commander noticed his second in command; the Masked Man shift uneasily.

The Commander chose to ignore him and returned his gaze to the battle.

…

As bullets riddled the ground at his feet from three more oncoming soldiers, Price leapt over the edge, throwing a quick glance at the two helicopters. He landed on his knees a second later before scurrying backwards so that his back was against the rock wall.

Price turned himself around and peeked over the edge for two seconds before ducking back down to avoid more bullets. As his enemies started to reload, he quickly went over what he'd seen.

 _Three soldiers coming at me. Twenty more soldiers with guns and two more behind them. Probably the leaders. All carrying automatics accept for the furthest one back. Some sort of handgun. Ten shots fired. Twenty rounds left_.

Price swung around and shot the two men closest to him in the chest three times each, then ducked back down to avoid fire from the third.

Price moved a few feet the left to change his position. When the fire ceased, he leaned over the edge and took out the third man, sending two bullets into the Russian's chest and one through his skull.

Price ducked down again. Th _ree more soldiers down. Nineteen soldiers left. Nine more shots fired. Eleven rounds left_. When he peeked out of cover again, he saw six more Russians coming at him. At their pace, they would reach him in less than six seconds.

Price opened fire on the group. He took out three of oncoming men with two shots each. As the bullets tore through their comrade's chests, the other three Russians started to open fire.

Price picked off two more soldiers without any trouble and glanced at his weapon. _One round left._

Price quickly turned his weapon again as the third soldier closed the remaining distance between them.

Price shot the soldier in the hip. The Russian stumbled forward slightly and landed on a knee before leveling his weapon again. Price quickly dropped his AK-47 and grabbed his pistol out of its holster, shooting the Russian in the head before he could get a shot off.

…

The Commander motioned with his hand and received a pair of binoculars from the Masked Man.

Getting a clear view of the handgun as the soldier ducked back into cover, The Commander knew that the weapon was an M1911 .45. He turned toward the second helicopter. "Bring out the RPG."

…

Price held his pistol tightly. _M1911 pistol, six rounds left. What do I have to deal with now?_

When Price glanced over the edge again, he spotted a soldier striding out of a helicopter.

The Russian was loading an RPG.

Price instinctively ducked down. _Cheating bastards._

Price swung around and took three shots at the man with the RPG. One bullet entered the Russian's left knee. Another two bullets in the right shoulder caused the man to turn around.

The Russian's finger was already on the trigger. The shot fired went off course and into the one of the helicopters, destroying it. All those around the blast were knocked off their feet but were left essentially unharmed.

…

As the Commander rose to his feet, he looked at the wounded pilot and without hesitation, shot him in the head before turning back toward the S.A.S. soldier. He wanted to capture this nuisance now more than ever but understood that the insurgent's death may have to suffice.

…

Disgusted at the waste of lives, the Masked Man turned away and started helping his fellow soldiers to their feet.

The Commander shot his weapon twice in the air and everyone froze. "This man has three rounds left," he announced. "He can't withstand another assault. Six of you will charge his position. Five-meter spread."

Six soldiers moved forward without hesitation. The remaining three clustered around The Commander. The Masked Man moved to follow the six soldiers, but The Commander held his arm out, blocking the other Russian's path.

"No," the Commander said. "You will stay with me."

The Masked Man shook his head but made no verbal protest. He restocked his weapon.

The Commander spoke quietly. "I still hope to capture this man alive. He must pay slowly Zakhaev's death and the trouble he has caused us."

…

Price looked out from cover once more and cursed under his breath. _Six more coming. Four running diagonally from the right._ Price ducked down as another few rounds hit the ground next to him. _Five meters between each man._

Price looked up for a second and ducked down again. _One more a little farther back. And one to the far left. He's gonna be a problem. Three rounds left. I can't do all of this with a gun_. Price picked up his grenade.

Price waited three seconds for the Russian soldiers to get closer and threw the grenade straight up into the air. Price quickly crouched back down and placed his hands over his ears.

The grenade went off, exploding in the air with a loud BANG, disorienting all the men close to Price and muffling sound for everyone. All Price could hear was the ringing in his ears.

Price leaped out of cover and shot the closest man in the head before shooting twice in the direction of the furthest man on the left, the sounds of the weapon's discharge still muffled. The left-side soldier died with the first bullet entering his left rib cage and the second going through his skull.

The furthest soldier back on the right raised his weapon as he moved toward Price, firing his weapon.

Still running, Price grabbed his knife with his left hand and charged. He came upon a soldier who was just rising to his feet and swung his knife horizontally, slashing the Russian's neck open as clear sound returned.

Another soldier raised his weapon. Price moved quickly, tugging the gun aside with his right hand while stabbing the soldiers exposed chest twice with the left.

Price let go of the man's gun just in time to duck under the swinging rifle of another soldier. Price stabbed the man's left knee before flipping the knife and stabbing upward through the Russian's head.

Over the dying soldier's shoulder, Price saw the final Russian leveling his weapon. Price quickly placed the soldier he had just stabbed between him and the weapon as the Russian ahead opened fire. As Price's human shield fell to the ground, Price ran toward the remaining soldier.

The Russian hefted his empty rifle as a club. Price ducked the horizontal swing and shoved his knife through the man's neck.

Price turned and saw the previous soldier's rifle lying a few meters away. As he moved for the loaded rifle, bullets pinged off the ground near the weapon.

Price turned toward the remaining Russians and their commanding officer. The man furthest back had shot at the rifle, evidenced by his still smoking handgun.

Price abandoned the rifle and charged to his doom.

…

The Masked Man shoved the two men in front of him aside and raised his rifle, ready to end the brave soldier's life quickly.

"Alive," his Commander said quietly.

The Masked Man slowly adjusted the grip on his weapon, preparing to use it as a club.

…

The Commander waved off the two soldiers behind him to give the Masked Man more room. He looked at the Masked Man curiously. This wasn't the first time in recent weeks that his friend had shown hesitancy to his orders.

…

Price saw the Masked Man change positions but didn't care. He reached the Masked Man and stabbed downward. The Masked Man turned and knocked the knife from Price's grasp with his vertically positioned rifle.

The Masked Man repositioned the rifle and attempted to jab at Price's face. Price stepped back and caught the rifle before shoving it back into its owner, keeping his grip on the rifle.

Price tugged The Masked Man toward him and head-butted the Russian. The Masked Man recoiled. Stepping back, he jumped off the ground and kicked Price in the chest with both feet.

Price hit the ground hard and tried to ignore the explosive pain in his chest as his stitches tore completely. Price grabbed his fallen knife and rose to his feet at the same time as the Russian.

Price stepped back again to dodge a spin kick aimed at his side and lunged forward with the knife. The Masked Man crossed his hands and arms to form a tight 'X' and blocked the knife arm up.

The Masked Man quickly sidestepped to Price's left and tugged the knife arm down with his left hand before elbowing Price in the face, causing him to drop the knife.

The Masked Man attempted to follow up with a jab. Price blocked the strike aside with one hand and punched the Masked Man's face with the other. The Masked Man stumbled back a step.

…

The Commander nodded and the two men on his right began to flank the enemy soldier.

…

When Price threw another Punch, the Masked Man ducked under the blow and Price dove forward, tackling the Masked Man to the ground. As Price raised his fist again, two Russian soldiers grabbed him from behind and hauled him off the Masked Man.

Price was dragged back a few feet before he managed to find his footing and get his left arm loose. He elbowed the man holding him on the left in the face and then swung around to break the nose of the soldier on the right.

The elbowed soldier fell and hit his head on the rocky ground, disorienting him.

The two men behind the Masked Man moved in. One soldier flanked Price on the right as the other ran forward with a fist. Price blocked the man's punch and sent an uppercut into the soldier's throat, shattering his wind pipe.

The Russian collapsed to the ground, dying. Price kicked to the right at the man trying to flank him, his foot colliding with the man's gut. The man with the now broken nose recovered and wrapped his left forearm around Price's neck, attempting to restrain him. Price saw the man he had elbowed slowly rise from the ground.

Price dropped to the ground, bringing the restraining Russian with him. Not expecting the tactic, the man's grip faltered. Price grabbed the knife from the soldier's belt and stabbed him once in the left rib cage. Price continued his attack, elbowing the man in the face before turning around and stabbing him twice in the sternum.

Price moved to grab the Russian's sidearm when he saw the butt of a rifle coming in fast out of his peripheral vision.

Price didn't have time to react and was hit hard in the side of the head by the Masked Man's rifle.

The second Price hit the ground, the two remaining soldiers moved in.


	13. The Art of Warfare

Price placed his arms around his head as the punches and kicks rained down. After ten seconds, he saw a pair of boots walking toward him through a small gap in his arms.

"Dostatochno," one of the said.

The soldiers immediately backed off.

Price attempted to rise again but, with found that he had no strength left. His entire body ached from the beating he'd taken. Price could only sit on his knees and gaze at what was left of the enemy.

The leader of the Russian assault team walked into Price's view again. The man looked Price in the eye. "Where is the other S.A.S. Officer?" he asked in English.

"Dead," Price lied. "He died on the chopper."

"Do you know who I am?" the Russian asked.

"One of Zakhaev's second-rate lackeys?" Price suggested. He glanced at the Masked Man. "Maybe third-rate."

"Good," the Russian said, holding up a hand as one of the soldiers moved forward to hit Price. The soldier stepped back as the Russian leader continued speaking. "I wouldn't want my identity compromised. It could undo of many years work."

"It's already over," Price said defiantly. "Zakhaev is dead and we won. The voice of the Ultranationalists is silenced. Go home. Let the world shape itself. Or better yet, give me my knife and I'll shape it a little on my own."

"I landed on this rock with twenty-six men," the Russian said, looking out at the numerous bodies left in Price's wake. "There are only three left. You have shaped the world enough."

Price saw the Masked Man shift uncomfortably before gathering his weapons from the ground and falling in behind the Russian leader.

"What do I call you?" the Russian leader asked.

Price returned his gaze to the speaking Russian. "Captain John Price. S.A.S."

"My name is Vladimir Makarov," the Russian said as he clasped his hands behind his back. "To the world I don't exist. To the media I don't exist. To every intelligence agency in the world I am dead. And do not exist."

"Get to the point," Price grunted.

"Despite what false information the media will receive about a leadership struggle within our ranks, as of today I am the leader of the Ultranationalists," Makarov informed Price. "Soon my country's salvation will be at hand. We will overthrow the Russian government."

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," Price muttered, unimpressed. "Even if you succeed, what happens if you're not satisfied with your new leader, eh? What if the next Russian President doesn't bring your _glorious salvation_? There's no winning a war, there's just the act of ending one."

"A soldier who can think _and_ act," Makarov said with a small hint of admiration. "Impressive."

Price glanced at the Masked Man who was gazing at the bodies across the cliff.

"If the new leader does not grant us our deserved salvation," Makarov answered, once again drawing Price's gaze. "I will bring it about myself."

"You tried that already," Price said with a shake of his head. "What's going to stop the United Nations from getting to you? Or your own government?"

Makarov turned away and started pacing. "Captain Price, all warfare is based on deception. This nuclear crisis is just the beginning. It was also a distraction. While the world leaders and their forces were focused on Zakhaev, we were looking to the future. There will be an American satellite taking off in ten hours' time. Our men are staging a sabotage."

The Masked Man looked at Makarov.

Makarov continued. "The sabotage will fail of course. But beacons will be placed on the device. We will know all of its strengths and weaknesses. The A.C.S. Module on board is meant for defense. If necessary, we can shoot it out of the sky at any time and claim it for ourselves."

Price shook his head.

"Once hacked, we will be able to use the A.C.S. Module to mask Russian forces as United States military personnel," Makarov continued. "Russia will invade the United States in a matter of hours."

Price spat a blood at Makarov's feet and said nothing.

"For years, the West's hypocrisy has made the world a battlefield," Makarov continued, ignoring Price. "The corrupt talk, while our brothers and sons spill their own blood."

Price looked up again. "It was the Ultranationalists that set off the nuke in the Presidential Palace, not—"

"We set off the nuke as retaliation," Makarov interrupted. "Not aggression. We were invaded. As were our allies."

"And killing thousands of your own people is retaliation?" Price spat. He grunted. "You're lying. You wanted to assert your control of the war."

Makarov nodded. "But deceit cuts both ways. The bigger the lie, the more likely people will believe it. If forced, I will orchestrate a spark for war. I will create a catastrophe that points directly to the Americans. I will bring about truth with a great lie," he promised, looking Price in the eye again. "And when a nation cries for vengeance, the lie spreads like a wildfire. The fire builds, devouring everything in its path."

Price narrowed his eyes.

Makarov knelt to Price's level. The Russian spoke in a calm, sinister whisper. "Our enemies believe that they alone dictate the course of history. And all it takes is the will of a single man."

"Is there a point to this speech?" Price growled. "If you're going to kill me, then just get on with it."

Makarov stood. "I'm not going to kill you, Price. I'm going to put you somewhere isolated where you can watch. Watch as we reach our salvation and you are left alone in the dark. And if you escape, nobody whose opinion matters is going to help you. You will be alone."

Price looked down but said nothing. A soft wind swept through the mountains. Price looked up at the sun and nodded to himself, accepting his fate.

Makarov turned to the Masked Man. "Knock him out and get him on the chopper. If he moves, knock him out again. However, I wouldn't expect much more from him."

"You said yourself that all change needs is the will of a single man," Price said as Makarov turned toward the remaining helicopter. "You may find those words hold true for everyone. Even your enemies."

Makarov turned and took one last look at Price. "We shall see."

Makarov nodded to the Masked Man. The Russian moved behind Price.

Price sighed and then saw nothing but black.

…

The Masked Man picked the unconscious soldier off the ground and swung him around his shoulders, following his superior and his two remaining comrades who were already starting up the chopper.

The Masked Man turned and gazed at the numerous bodies of the assault team. They were men that were patriotic and wanted a better world. They were men that had been corrupted by Makarov's insane lust for power.

The Masked Man hauled the S.A.S. soldier into the chopper before taking off his own mask, vowing to leave the insanity behind.


	14. Reborn

_"Good luck, son."_

Soap's eyes snapped open.

Click. Click. Click.

Soap blinked several times. _Where the hell am I?_

Click. Click. Click.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Soap saw a small ceiling fan above him. His eyes darted to the left and he saw a cluster of medical devices. _Hospital? Military Base?_

Click. Click. Click.

Soap brought a hand to his face. _Damnit! My eye hurts!_

Click. Click. Click.

Soap let his hand drop. _What the bloody hell is that clicking?_

Soap looked to his right to see man sitting on a chair a few feet from his bed. He looked somewhat familiar, but Soap couldn't put a name to the face.

Questions and curiosity became irrelevant once he saw the source of the clicking.

The man was fiddling with a pistol.

 _Price's pistol!_

Soap was instantly awake, adrenaline coursing through him as he sat up. "Where did you get that pistol?" he growled.

"Woah," the man in the chair said with an English accent as he stood quickly. "Easy there, mate. You've had a hard couple of days."

"Where did you get that pistol?" Soap asked loudly, getting to his feet. He barely noticed to cold tile against his bare feet, nor the loose-fitting white shirt and pants that he wasn't used to wearing.

"You have to calm down," the other man said calmly, taking a step back. "This can't be healthy for you."

"Nobody touches that pistol!" shouted Soap.

Soap charged forward threw a left hook. The blow was barely dulled by the fact that Soap had just awoken from a long sleep.

The pistol fell to the floor as the man slammed into the wall and clutched at his nose. "Shit! I think you broke my nose!"

Soap moved forward deliver another punch when he heard someone entering the room behind him.

"You're awake!"

Soap spun around to see Kamarov moving toward him from the doorway.

Kamarov was one of the last men Soap had seen before blacking out on the bridge.

The Russian moved toward Soap. "We weren't expecting you up for another three ho—" Kamarov was cut off as Soap grabbed him by his vest and shoved him hard against the wall.

"Where is Price?" Soap shouted.

"He— he woke up on the— the chopper!" the panicked Russian stuttered. "Ambushed— we had to leave him behind!"

As Soap drew back another fist, a third man hauled him away from Kamarov.

"My friend, this is not helping!" a familiar voice said frantically. The man turned Soap toward him. Nikolai held Soap's shoulder's firmly. "You need to calm down!"

"He left Price!" shouted Soap.

"Price sacrificed himself!" Nikolai said quickly. He sat Soap back on the bed. Nikolai relaxed slightly as Soap took a deep shuttering breath. Nikolai sat in the chair across from Soap. "Price sacrificed himself. It was his choice."

Soap put his face in his hands and rubbed a tear out of his eye, feeling all his strength and energy drain from him. After a minute, he laid back down and immediately collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

Soap awoke a few hours later to the clicking of a lighter. He opened his eyes and looked to his right to see a cigar being lit.

"Price?" Soap asked hopefully.

"No," replied the voice behind the cigar. The bearded man that now sat before Soap was American. "My name is Shepherd. I have a proposition for you."

…

And so, Soap's recovery began. He rose from his bed every morning and began training.

…

"Five years after the attempt on Zakhaev's life," Shepherd began, taking a puff of his cigar. "A group of skilled warriors and high-ranking military officials came together to discuss the formation of a team."

…

Soap ran and ran. At first, he couldn't keep up with others on the base. After a while, he exceeded their pace, leaving all but two others in the dust. Nikolai, a true and loyal friend, had remained on the base.

The man who Soap had met when he first awoke in the infirmary also remained. The English soldier still nursed a broken nose and had shown loyalty to Soap without asking for anything in return. He had never provided a name.

…

Shepherd handed Soap a clipboard. It contained a list of names.

 **Joint Task Force:**

 **Initial Draft Roster**

 **United Kingdom:**

Director of Special Forces (DSF) "MacMillan, T."

S.A.S. Captain "Price, J."

 **United States:**

General "Shepherd, L."

Designation: Overlord (IDENTITY CLASSIFIED)

Sergeant "Foley, K."

Lieutenant "Vasquez, D."

Staff Sergeant "Griggs, M."

…

A few weeks later, Soap began sparring. He started with one opponent. Within a month, he began sparring with five men.

Two of his normal partners were Nikolai and the man with the broken nose, who wasn't half bad at handling himself in a fight. Within two months, Soap was revered as the best fighter on the base.

…

"We were going to recruit the best handpicked warriors on the planet," Shepherd said, blowing smoke out of his mouth. "Nationality and gender would be irrelevant."

…

Near the end of Soap's recovery, he began weapons practice. Once again, he was joined by the man with the broken nose who had refused to provide a name.

It took Soap less than a day to be back up to par. He still refused to use the Captain's pistol strapped to his belt.

…

"These operatives were to be experts in weapons, tactics, hand-to-hand, knife combat, interrogation, marksmanship, communications, and intelligence," Shepherd continued, holding the cigar between his fingers.

…

Soap spent many nights awake. He often wondered why it was he who held the pistol and why it was he who had survived when nobody else had.

…

"All that changed when Al-Fulani was executed," Shepherd said solemnly, extinguishing the cigar in an ash tray. "The events that followed cost many lives. Resources have been diverted. It seemed that the program was to be scrapped."

"What does this have to do with me?" Soap asked.

"I saw what Price gave you upon his passing," Shepherd said, leaning forward. "He passed his pistol, his rank, and his legacy on to you."

…

"No," said Soap for the fifth time in three months. "I don't want the job. Price chose the wrong man."

Shepherd opened his mouth to reply but stopped when a soldier ran into the room.

"General Shepherd," the man said with a frantic salute. "There's a situation."

"What happened?" snapped Shepherd.

"Sir, Sec Def's plane has been taken."

"How many casualties?" Shepard demanded as he stood.

"There was a minimal crew on the plane, sir. But the security team is dead. The terrorists, Russians Ultranationalists we believe, deposited the bodies outside the plane ten minutes ago.

"How the hell did this happen?" Shepherd asked impatiently.

"We're still close to the Russian border. And with the power struggle, we've been stretched thin. About twenty to forty hostiles got through. They took control of the plane and are demanding fuel."

Shepherd glanced at Soap for a moment before returning his gaze to the reporting officer. "Anything else?"

"The captors are also threatening to detonate a bomb they claim to have on board," the man said. "They refuse to leave the plane and they're not going risk any men when they have a bomb keeping us in place."

"Shit," Shepherd grunted. "Do we have a plan to get on board?"

"We're still working on it, sir."

Shepherd shook his head and looked at Soap who had been watching the exchange in silence. "We're the closest base to that plane and our task force is off site." Shepherd said. "I can put together a team soon enough. But I'll still be short a man."

Soap sighed. He wasn't going to lead this new team. But he wouldn't turn from his duty either. "Just this once, Shepherd."


	15. The Mile High Club

"I've got an idea," Soap said, leaning over the table.

The 'One-One' team had been gathered around a table for over fifteen minutes. When Shepherd announced that Soap would lead the team, nobody had objected.

Soap learned that the name of the man who had been at his side for the last few months was Simon Riley. For this mission, the younger soldier had chosen designation 'Romeo One-One' as his call sign. Although this did nothing to help Soap understand why the man seemed familiar.

Another man on the squad had the nickname of Toad. He had chosen designation 'Charlie One-One'. The third man at the table was known normally as Archer but would be taking the name of 'Echo One-One.'

Shepherd stood at the other end of the table looking over a second copy of the plane's blueprints.

Due to the trouble in the region, the plane, inside and out, had been modified to resemble Russian origins. It seemed that the deception had failed. The United States Secretary of Defense, currently visiting the region to negotiate further troop deployment with the Loyalists of Russia, was now in custody.

Everyone looked up when Soap spoke.

"Riley, they said that the plane hasn't been fueled yet?" Soap asked.

"Yes, sir," Riley answered. "But we're going to have to give in soon."

"Don't call me 'sir'," Soap said sharply. He moved to stand beside Shepherd. "We can get four men in through the landing gear."

"How?" asked Toad.

Soap leaned over the blueprints. "We bring in a truck of fuel. While Shepherd's boys start to fuel the plane, we use the cover of the truck to crawl up into the landing gear."

"Not a lot of room," Archer commented.

"With minimum supplies, maybe one rifle, a vest, a side arm, a few flash bangs, parachutes, and a small blow torch, we could enter the shafts here," Soap explained, pointing at the blueprints. "We wait there until the plane takes off, then we move in and secure the hostage. But we have to be quick. We'll have three minutes tops."

"Crazy solution to a crazy situation," Riley muttered. He looked up with a sly grin. "Sounds like fun. I'm in."

Again, Soap had the feeling that he knew this man somehow. He quickly pushed the thought aside and continued. "When we secure the hostage, we may have to bail out quickly. If we have to, we create a breach and jump."

Shepherd leaned over the blueprints and nodded. "It's a plan."

Soap looked at Shepherd. "What do we know about the hostage?"

"United States Secretary of Defense. Name: Richard Kriegler," Shepherd said, lighting a cigar. "He's fluent in Russian and he's likely to try and beg or "negotiate" with his captors. If he's got a hood over his head, he's not likely to speak English. In short, he's a coward and a pain in the ass. He's also had… history with Price."

"What history?" Soap pressed.

"When Price returned from his mission to kill Zakhaev in Pripyat," Shepherd explained, placing the cigar in his mouth. "Kriegler got in his face. Price didn't approve and Kriegler almost created a diplomatic incident over a shove to the side."

Riley sniggered but quieted down when Shepherd glared at him.

"Will this be a problem?" Shepherd asked Soap.

"To me he's just a VIP," Soap grunted. He turned to the team. "Riley, once we're in the plane, you'll be giving the orders. I'll take point."

A technician walked up to Riley and handed him a small device. "This device may come in handy if they decide to activate the bomb," the man explained. "It'll start beeping if it detects any sort of countdown and automatically sends small bursts electro-magnetic pulses, jamming the timer. However, it won't last long. You'll have _maybe_ an extra fifteen seconds to get out of the plane."

Riley took the device and shoved it in his vest for safe keeping. "Cutting it a little close," he grumbled under his breath.

"Wheels up in three," Shepherd said.

The short truck ride to the runway gave Soap time to take stock of the situation. He had an MP5SD, a knife, and had strapped Price's pistol to his left hip but had no intention of using it. If he had to use a pistol, he would use the USP .45 on his right hip.

Soap also had a thin, bulletproof vest and four flash-bangs. He looked over at Riley who was strapping on his parachute.

"I'm sorry about your nose," Soap said awkwardly after a few minutes.

"It's alright," Riley said with a laugh. "My brother told me about Captain Price's… attachment to the pistol and what happened when he touched it. I should have listened."

"Your brother?" Soap asked, confused. Then it dawned on him. "Gaz?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out before now," Riley said, stocking and restocking his weapons. "I suppose that since we don't have the same last name, it can be a hard observation to make. I actually have two brothers."

"Why don't you have the same last name as your brothers?" Soap pressed.

"Well, let's just say that my father was cavalier with his love life," Riley said with a shrug. "He was gentlemen enough the take the last names of his three wives."

Soap was unsure how to respond.

"Five minutes to the airfield," the driver announced.

"Alright, masks on." Soap said.

Riley sighed and pulled on a gas mask. "I hate these things. I prefer my other mask. Skullface. But I figure I shouldn't freak everyone out in a hostage situation," he said, grabbing his rifle. "Plus, there's also a bomb and we're forty-thousand feet in the air. But the other mask is nice for close encounters."

Soap looked down and chuckled.

"What?" asked Riley.

"You sound like your brother," Soap said, pulling on his mask.

Riley looked down and was uncharacteristically silent for a moment.

Soap let the matter drop.

The entry plan succeeded.

By the time the plane had risen to thirty-thousand feet, the task force was safely crouched in the upper ventilation shafts of the plane. The Russians had no idea that there were intruders on board.

When they reached the breach point of forty thousand feet, Riley pulled out a small blowtorch and started to cut through the panel below them. "We're going deep and we're going hard."

"Surly you can't be serious," Archer commented.

"I'm serious," Riley replied. "And don't call me Shirley."

The team exited the shaft ten seconds and found that the stairs next to the breach point was blocked by luggage. They knew they couldn't move it without being seen. Up ahead, there was a conference room with a hallway to the right. Further on, there was a seating area. The bodies of passengers littered the area.

Soap tightened his grip on his rifle. _Guess we're going to do this the hard way_. _MP5SD. Thirty rounds. USP .45 twelve rounds._

Soap took point. A man stepped out of the lavatory of the plane. Soap immediately sliced his chest open with his knife.

"Weapons free," Riley said as the man Soap had had stabbed fell to the ground. "Tango down in section One Alpha."

Soap brought his gun to bear against a man in the hallway to the right of the conference room.

…

Riley turned as Russians started firing from the stairs behind them, using the luggage as cover.

"Hostile neutralized," Toad said as he and Riley took out two Russians.

…

Soap leaned left again and shot a man near the exit of the conference room as more men swarmed into the seating area beyond.

Soap moved forward and took cover in the beside the conference room's exit. _Six rounds used. Twenty-four rounds left._

"Move," Riley ordered as he rejoined Soap.

Toad remained by the stairs, exchanging fire with the descending Russians.

Soap moved into the seating area and opened fire, sending three bullets into one of the men who had entered moments before. Riley and Archer provided covering fire as Soap attempted to flank the remaining soldiers from the left.

"X-Ray down," Riley announced after shooting a man who had Soap in his sights.

Soap ran past the dead Russian and leveled his weapon at a group of soldiers taking cover behind the back row of seats. Soap opened fire, using up the rest of his clip and leaving death in its wake.

As Soap was reloading, a soldier came around the corner in front of him.

Toad rejoined and put a bullet through the Russian's head. "Hostile neutralized."

Soap fired his weapon at the second man around the corner, killing him instantly before moving into the next seating area. There were stairs at the far end that led up to the second deck of the plane.

Soap took cover behind a set of seats to avoid a barrage of bullets from soldiers coming down the stairs. A few of the bullets hit the windows on the left side of the plane.

…

"We got a hull breach!" Riley shouted. "Get down! Get down!"

Part of the aircraft tore away, leaving a large hole in the side of the plane.

Riley, realizing that the Russians would attempt to flank them again, ran back to their entry point to cover the rear stairs.

…

As two soldiers were knocked out by debris being sucked through the breach, Soap moved in and killed the remaining two men who were still disoriented from the sudden rush of wind. _Fifteen rounds used on two guys. Damn breach._

Archer took out another soldier next to the seats on the right side as Toad crouched down and provided cover as Soap ascended the stairs.

Soap made it to the top of the stairs and turned toward the front of the aircraft as four Russians entered the room. Soap opened fire once again, killing three of the men and wounding one, emptying his clip. Soap pulled out his USP .45 to finish off the fourth man as Archer and Toad moved in to clear the rest of the room.

…

On the lower deck, Riley was running out of ammo.

Another soldier descended the stairs.

Riley put him down with two shots. "Tango down."

…

Soap reloaded his rifle.

The next room had a hallway leading to the front of the plane.

Soap used up another clip, putting down six hostiles that ran down the hallway. _We're running out of time._

Soap moved up as Toad and Archer came into the room behind him and started to exchange fire the three men that Soap had missed.

Soap ran past the battle and rounded a corner as a soldier crashed into him. The Russian tossed a flashbang behind Soap with his free hand, disorienting Soap's squad and the remaining hostiles in the previous room.

As Soap hit the wall, his MP5SD fell from his grasp. The Russian grabbed the knife from Soap's belt, attempting to stab downward.

Soap grabbed the man's arm and swung around, pinning the Russian against the wall before repeatedly slamming the soldier's hand against the wall until the knife fell to the ground. The enemy soldier head-butted Soap, causing him to stagger back a few steps.

Soap dove to the side as the Russian brought out his sidearm. The bullets ricochet around the windows where Soap had been standing.

The hull remained intact and the Russian gave chase.

Soap stood and placed himself against the wall. When the soldier's arm came into view, Soap grabbed it, stretched it out, and punched in the man's elbow, causing him to drop the handgun in pain.

The Russian swung his left arm around and punched Soap hard in the face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Soap pulled out his sidearm, but it was kicked out of his grasp. The man tried to stomp on Soap's chest. Soap caught the foot and twisted it to the side, sending his foe to the ground.

The Russian rolled away and reached for his fallen sidearm with his left hand. As he brought it around to shoot Soap, bullets ripped through him.

"Tango down," said Toad as he and Archer entered the room.

As Soap got to his feet, the doors in front of him slammed open. There was a Russian soldier holding the Secretary of Defense in front of him, demanding that the team drop their weapons.

Soap barely heard any of the Russian's words.

 _"You're ready."_

Soap didn't hesitate. He pulled out Price's… _his_ pistol and waited.

Time seemed to slow down.

When Soap could see the tip of the Russians head, he took the shot.

Blood splattered the half wall behind the Russian and his hostage.

As the Secretary of Defense; Richard Kriegler, ran to the side, Soap continued shooting the Russian soldier, not stopping until the gun was empty.

Soap reloaded and holstered the weapon.

"Shite!" Riley exclaimed from the deck below. "Someone's armed the bomb. We don't have much time! We've got go, now!"

"Rodger that," Toad replied.

Archer planted C4 on a nearby exit hatch.

When it blew, Kriegler only screamed louder and kept on spitting out Russian gibberish.

Toad grabbed the Secretary of Defense. "Were going for a little freefall, mate! On your feet!"

Toad hulled Kriegler to the hatch and threw himself and the Secretary of Defense out of the plane. Archer followed a second later.

Once again, time seemed to slow down for Soap. _Riley is still in here! He can't make it! Shit! We have to leave him behind!_ Soap moved toward the breach. _**I** have to leave him behind._

Soap jumped out of the plane.

Through his com, Soap heard Riley's last words. "Mission Accomplished! See you next time, mate!"

Soap's scream of grief was drowned out by the plane's explosion.


	16. Happy Landings

"I'm sorry, Riley," Soap whispered as he pulled cord on his chute.

Soap landed thirty seconds after Toad and Archer. They were still busy trying to calm Kriegler who was now ranting in English.

Soap payed no attention. _I lost another one. How am I going to tell his brother that both Gaz and Riley were killed when I…_ Soap tore off his mask. _Why did I have to survive?_

Soap turned and looked at the sky, spotting a black dot.

The dot grew steadily larger as it descended.

Abandoning his efforts to calm Kriegler, Toad joined Soap.

The dot sprouted a parachute.

Soap's eyes widened, unable to believe what he was seeing. He retraced his steps through the entire operation in his head. _The hull breach… Riley stayed back to cover the stairs after the…after the hull breach!_

The figure attached to the parachute came in for a landing about fifteen feet from them.

Riley threw his parachute to the ground and gave them a small wave.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Riley said loudly.

Soap grunted.

Riley, still wearing his mask, tipped is head the side "Ghost," he said to himself. "Hmm, I kinda like the sound of that. It definitely goes with my other mask."

"I bet," Soap said.

Riley looked past Toad and Soap. "Looks like our evac is here."

They turned around to see a convoy of army trucks coming their way. One had a United States flag on the top.

Soap raised an eyebrow. "Looks like Shepherd himself is coming."

As they started walking toward Kriegler, Soap turned to Riley who was walking two steps behind him. "That was a nice trick, going out the hull breach."

"Thank you, sir."

Soap ignored the title and looked forward as Kriegler started shouting again.

As Kriegler finally got to his feet, Archer took a moment to take off his mask and glanced at the rest of the squad, silently pleading for help.

Soap sighed "I suppose somebody should go and rescue Archer."

"Yup."

"Probably."

All of a sudden, Toad and Riley decided they either dropped something or needed to tie their boots.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Soap walked over to Kriegler.

The man saw Soap and was silent for a moment, then immediately went off again. "You've got to be kidding me!" the man exclaimed. "They only sent one team? Why did the plane even take off? Why give them fuel? I'll report your incompetence to—"

"Are you injured?" Soap interrupted.

"No, but—"

"Good," Soap said, moving past Kriegler. The convoy stopped. Soldiers hopped out of the trucks and began establishing a perimeter. Soap pointed ahead. "You'll be debriefed by one of those trucks there."

A short distance away, Soap saw Shepherd exit a truck along with a man who had a short, grey beard. Both walked forward with authority.

Soap, figuring he was done with Kriegler, moved to meet them, expecting yet another barrage of requests.

Kriegler fell in behind Soap, followed by Riley, Toad, and Archer.

Kriegler was still spouting off nonsense. "…I am going to have your uniforms! You threw me out of an airplane without a parachute! You blew up my plane on foreign soil and you are not even part of the United States military! There hasn't been this big of a screw up since Pripyat when that idiot Price failed to—"

CRACK.

In front of Shepherd, the bearded man, the team, and the convoy, Soap's elbow collided with Kriegler's face, breaking his nose and sending the man sprawling to the ground.

The man with the beard leaned over and whispered something to Shepherd.

Shepherd grunted.

Soap kept on walking. "I don't work well with authority," he said upon reaching Shepherd and the other man.

"Neither did Price," the second man said with a thick English accent.

…

Riley stifled his laughter as Kriegler stood.

"Did you see what he did to me?" Kriegler asked anyone who would listen. He turned to Riley.

Riley took of his mask. "Sorry, you know these masks make it really hard to see sometimes…"

Toad and Archer were laughing and everybody else just ignored Kriegler. It seems the Secretary of Defense had a reputation.

…

Soap was still staring at the man with the grey beard. "Have we met?" he asked.

"Only by reputation, I'd imagine," the man answered. "My name is MacMillan. Director of Special Forces."

"It's an honor," Soap said with a respectful nod. "Price respected you very much."

MacMillan looked down for a moment and turned to Shepherd. "Do you mind?"

Shepherd nodded and walked toward the Secretary of Defense who was now shouting at everyone.

MacMillan turned back to Soap. "Let's take a walk, lad."

They started doing laps around the perimeter of the convoy.

After a minute, MacMillan started to speak. "When I met John, he was about your age. He had a temper, he didn't like authority, and he was the best damn recruit I'd ever seen. Now, I know Shepherd wants you to lead a team we're putting together."

Soap opened his mouth to interrupt.

"Just listen for a moment," MacMillan said calmly. "Price was going to lead the team before he died. He didn't want perfection. He wanted efficiency. He wouldn't _let_ anybody else lead. That's the kind of man he was."

Soap looked down for a moment with a small nod.

"Now, I'm not going to order you to lead this team or even try to convince you," MacMillan promised. "You're the same as Price. You won't do anything someone tells you unless you want to. But I _will_ tell you one thing."

MacMillan grabbed Soap's shoulder and brought them to a stop before finishing. "You would not have that pistol if Price didn't think you were ready to lead this team. Price wanted this for you. All I'm asking is that you think about it."

MacMillan walked away, leaving Soap to his thoughts.

Soap looked to the horizon and took a long, deep breath.

After a few minutes, Soap grabbed the Captain's pistol from its holster.

Soap stared at the weapon as the sun began to set. After a minute, he holstered his weapon and walked back to the convoy of vehicles preparing to depart.


	17. Task Force 141

"I'll do it," Soap announced, interrupting the debriefing between Riley, Shepherd, and MacMillan. "I'll do it. But I have four conditions."

"Name them," Shepherd said.

John 'Soap' MacTavish stepped forward. "Number one, I want the identity of Soap to be erased. That man died with Price," he said firmly, moving to stand next to Riley. "Captain MacTavish will do fine. Number two, I want full control of the team that you have provided. Full dossiers, military records, everything you've got. If I say to cut one loose, it gets done. Is that clear?"

"That can be arranged," MacMillan said slowly. "Your other two requests?"

MacTavish glanced at Riley. "I want to pick the last two members of my team, no questions asked."

"As it should be," MacMillan agreed.

"My final request," MacTavish said, pulling out his pistol. "I keep this."

"Done," Shepherd said. He raised his voice. "Alright, boys. It's been a long day. Get back to base and get some rest. Maybe we'll actually get some work done tomorrow."

"Captain," Riley said as he turned to MacTavish. "Requesting permission to stick around."

MacTavish nodded. "Permission granted… Ghost."

Ghost smiled slightly.

MacTavish looked at the Director of Special Forces. "That's one member down, MacMillan. I have an idea for a second, but if it doesn't pan out, I would appreciate a list of possible candidates as well as the dossiers I requested ASAP."

"I'll send them to you in the morning," MacMillan said with a nod. "Good luck, lad."

A few days later, in a chopper en route to Afghanistan, MacTavish was looking through the dossiers of the squad he was going to lead. All the positions had been filled except for his own second addition.

MacTavish had called Nikolai first and the informant had politely declined. "If Soap ever needs my help," the Russian had said. "He knows how to find me. Remember, I owe him two."

MacTavish flipped through the files he had been given. On the side of each file, he had made his own simplified notes and observations.

Ozone: Good Soldier. Expert in breach and clears. Efficient with assault rifles and machine guns.

Scarecrow: Tech Specialist. Expert in hacking, computers, and tech. Efficient with assault rifles and machine guns.

Archer: Sniper Specialist. Efficient in the Field.

Toad: Sniper Specialist. Efficient in the Field.

Worm: Navy Seal. Expert in breach and clears. Efficient with assault rifles and machine guns.

Royce: Good Soldier. Expert in breach and clears. Efficient with assault rifles and machine guns.

Meat: Translator and Language Specialist. Efficient with assault rifles and machine guns.

MacTavish sighed. _The generic best of the best. I hope MacMillan gives me some better options._

"Captain MacTavish," Ghost said. "We'll be landing in three minutes."

"Thanks, Ghost," MacTavish said, checking to make sure his pistol was on his belt.

MacTavish placed the files in the pack beside him. He glanced out the side of the chopper and saw their destination in the distance. MacMillan requested that MacTavish meet a few of the United States Rangers at the newly established military base.

"So, this'll be fun," Ghost said, sitting down beside MacTavish. "Make new friends. Bring one with us. Disappoint the rest."

"Just another day at the office," MacTavish replied.

When the chopper landed, there were two men waiting for them. MacTavish walked down the ramp as the older of the two men in front of them stepped forward and shook hands with the two arrivals.

"Welcome to the base," the older man said. "I'm Sergeant Foley. This is my second in command; Corporal Dunn. It's an honor to meet you both."

"Glad to be here, sir," Ghost said respectfully.

"What do you got for me?" MacTavish asked, skipping the pleasantries.

Foley led them to the training area of the camp. "We just got settled here a few days ago. We're going to be getting more men soon and build a real training area with a course, but for now, this is all we got."

"Alright, best of the best," Dunn said motioning toward a group of five men standing at attention. "Experts in marksmanship, interrogation, hand-to-hand, the works."

Ghost started to walk up and down the line, examining each man through his skullface mask.

"Same old, same old," MacTavish grunted.

There was a series of gunshots to their right. MacTavish turned and saw a man standing at a practice range. The soldier was switching between various weapons, checking their modifications, aim, and range.

MacTavish looked at Foley. "Who's that?"

Foley glanced at the man testing the weapons. "Gary Sanderson. He was transferred here from the 22nd S.A.S. Regiment a few weeks ago."

"Long way from home," Ghost observed, falling in line beside MacTavish.

"He barely passed their athletic requirements," Foley explained. "So he was sent here to do weapon modifications and help with trainings until they think he's ready."

"He's a freakin' roach," Dunn said quietly. "Every few months they send over the dropouts to places like this. They don't do us much good in a fight and there are a lot of them."

"Cockroaches don't die easily," MacTavish commented. He walked toward the man at the target range. "Ghost, on me."

"You want me to run him through some tests?" Foley called after them.

"I'll take care of it," MacTavish called back.

When MacTavish reached Sanderson, the soldier had relocated to a new target. The target depicted the outline of a body standing up straight with small target symbols on its head, shoulders, elbows, hands, and knees as well as a large symbol on its chest.

Sanderson continued firing an M4A1 at the target. His bullets hit the center of the target symbols and one shot to the center of the target's head.

MacTavish grabbed his Captain's pistol. _Let's see how you handle this._ MacTavish shot a circle of bullets around Sanderson's headshot. He looked at Sanderson and raised his eyebrows. MacTavish turned to walk away, holstering his pistol. _C'mon kid. Three… Two… On—_

There was a rapid series of gunshots as Sanderson shot a straight line of bullets from the target's chest to the shoulders, up and down the arms, and down both legs. Then he picked up his own pistol and shot all the non-lethal areas of the target as well as its center target.

Sanderson finished by shooting his last round straight through one of the holes that MacTavish had created.

Sanderson grabbed another weapon, glanced at MacTavish and raised his eyebrows.

MacTavish grunted in satisfaction as he walked back to the group of men were still waiting at attention.

Ghost glanced at MacTavish. "I like him already."

"I want him," MacTavish said to Foley.

"You got it," Foley said with a nod. "Why?

MacTavish looked around. It seemed everybody was interested in an answer. "I never wanted the perfect man for the job," MacTavish explained. "Perfect men don't always know how to react to failure. Some soldiers also rely too much on their teammates."

"And?" Foley asked.

MacTavish pointed at Sanderson. "When I look at that man, I can see that he knows how to handle himself," the soldier continued. "He's also shown by his reaction that he is a loner. He knows how to complete a mission, he knows how to work alone, and I can rely on him to keep going if everyone else fails, dies, or both."

Foley smiled in admiration. "I like how you think. I've got a few like that myself. Maybe one day I'll send them your way."

"I'd appreciate that," MacTavish said with a nod.

Foley turned to Dunn "The Corporal here will take care of the necessary paperwork and calls. Sanderson will be ready in a few hours. Would you like me to speak to him now?"

MacTavish shook his head. "Ghost and I will handle it. It was a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant."

"Likewise," Foley responded. He turned to the candidates who had lined up for inspection. They looked decidedly unhappy but were making an admirable effort to cover it up. Foley raised his voice. "Dismissed."

MacTavish and Ghost walked over to where Sanderson was now testing a sniper rifle.

Ghost leaned up against the half wall that Sanderson was using to support his weapon. "Nice shooting, mate."

Sanderson stopped firing and turned to the two soldiers, waiting expectantly.

"We're putting together a team," MacTavish said crisply. "The usual best of the best bullshit. We need one more man. So the question is: do you want to stay here and check guns? Or do you wanna get out in the world and solve r _eal_ problems?"

"With the slightly massive risk of death," Ghost added.

Sanderson smiled, nodded, and extended his hand.

Ghost shook it and walked back toward the chopper.

Sanderson slowly offered his hand to MacTavish.

"Roach," MacTavish said, shaking the hand. "Welcome to The One-Four-One."

Call of Duty:

Modern warfare


End file.
